Easily edible food to steal, like chickens, were more likely to be found where folk were settled than in the wild, but too much theft of that kind would soon result in a reaction. In order to eat what they caught, a fire would have to be lit so it could be cooked, all of which put them at risk of discovery and from folk unlikely to be overly friendly.
‘If they don’t cut our throats straight off,’ Ohannes intoned, sat on a fallen and rotting tree trunk facing the river and Flavius, ‘they will find out who you are and that will mean a bit of gold for selling you to the Huns. Worse still, they might sell you to Senuthius.’
When Flavius showed an immediate impatience to recross the river, Ohannes had the task of restraining him, on the very good grounds that it was not yet safe to do so; indeed, the old man was far from sure it would ever be that.
‘And what if that commission from Constantinople comes and goes without our even knowing?’ Flavius demanded.
‘You put too much faith in that, to my mind.’
‘And where else would you have me place it?’ That got the youngster a look; it also got the older man an apology. ‘I did not mean you.’
‘Never thought you did,’ came the less than convincing reply, followed by a sigh that hinted at understanding. ‘You want revenge and that is only natural, but it might be in seeking blood you end up as dead as your family and what good will that serve?’
‘I must somehow contact my mother and I cannot do that from here.’
‘Aye, that is a worry. If they had a cross in mind for you, I fear they might have something of the like for her should she choose to ignore your request and arrive at a time inconvenient.’
‘Which would be any time before the commission arrives.’ Flavius looked to the trees under which they sat. ‘I might be able to see something from the upper branches. Make out if the coast is clear. Men still searching I could not miss.’
‘With that shoulder of yours, you might just as like end up with a broken neck.’
That got a slow swing of the arm and a wince. ‘It’s getting better, good enough to row.’
‘Give it the time it needs, Master Flavius, for if you do go back, an’ I cannot see how I can stop you, then you best be fully fit for fighting.’
‘My sword arm is good.’
‘That’s not enough in a real scrap, young sir,’ Ohannes hooted. ‘Folk would have you believe that battle is all pretty sword and spear work, but it is nothing like. It’s gouge, bite and kick as much as anything, with the need for trickery to make sure you don’t fall and the fellow afore you does. I once needed to crush one head with a stone.’
‘If a sword is used properly …’
‘And who says you’ll get the chance? I used to watch you and your fellows being instructed, thrust here, parry there, how to use your shield. Never saw anyone tell you to put the boss of that hard into the groin of the boy you were contesting with, wouldn’t be proper that.’
There was a scoffing tone in the old man’s voice that set Flavius on edge; he considered himself the best of his group – only rarely did he ever have to give ground to another – and he felt it was incumbent upon him to say that if Ohannes had been watching their practice he would have observed that.
‘Very lively it was too, but as much use to you in a true contest as a stalk of corn. I say that, and if your papa were here he would say so too.’ That saw the young head drop, and brought forth an apologetic hand from Ohannes, to tap his good shoulder. ‘Didn’t mean to pain you, lad.’
‘Remind me, Ohannes,’ Flavius insisted, unable to hide the fact that he was close to tears again.
‘Recall the way we fought those two thieving sods that tried to rob your house, Master Flavius.’
‘I wish you would stop calling me that, it makes me sound like a child.’
It was a good job he was not looking at Ohannes then, for he would have seen in the old man’s eyes a reaction which indicated that was exactly how he saw him; there was, however, nothing in the voice to let the youngster discern that opinion.
‘What I am saying is this, that from what I could see, an’ I admit it were not much given I was far from looking at what else was happening, for I had my own concerns, you fought real foul.’
That allowed Flavius a smile. ‘Which would have got me a swipe of the vine sapling from those who instructed us.’
‘It gets praise from me!’ came the empathic reply. ‘Them fellows were there to teach you to look and act noble-like. Yet there’s not one of them ever saw it as the right way to be going on.’
‘How I wish we could ask them.’
Ohannes crossed himself and murmured a blessing for men who had died fighting with his old and now deceased master. Yet his voice was strong as he continued and he picked up and made a mock threat with his spear to drive home the point.
‘All that fighting fair is nice for an arena and a crowd content to do without blood. It will not serve where it’s a choice between you and another. Fight dirty I say again, ’cause winning is the only thing that counts.’
‘Put up the spear,’ Flavius said in a soft voice, looking over the old man’s shoulder.
‘Trouble?’
‘Lots.’
‘Too much?’
Flavius nodded and the spear was laid gently on the floor of fallen leaves at his feet, Flavius wondering why Ohannes spun it first so the point was aimed towards the trees at his back. That done he turned, at no greater pace, to see on the edge of the small clearing in which they had made camp, a line of men in amongst the trees, several with bows already strung with arrows.
‘Best stand,’ he said, ‘arms well out.’
Flavius did as he was bidden, moving to one side so Ohannes did not mask him in any way. Making a quick judgement based on their clothing, he issued a greeting in the Sklaveni tongue, nervous that there would be some kind of reply, for it was very close to all he knew of their language, a few common words. As it was, all he got was a look of deep curiosity from a man who stepped forward, his stance and attitude, or perhaps it was the way the rest looked to him, marking him out as their leader.
Flavius put him as older than any of his brothers, over thirty summers, and he was well built, with a broad pair of shoulders and hands hanging loose at his side, yet still they looked capable of action. Bareheaded, the face was broad, the nose flattish, the eyes a deep brown and steady, and while his non-archer companions had their swords out he did not. The silence did not last long, even if it seemed so, and what followed was a set of guttural words that neither Flavius nor Ohannes would understand, before he changed to good Latin.
‘I have had to lie to my men about who you are.’
‘And who am I?’ Flavius asked, feeling a knot in the pit of his stomach.
‘You are the son of Decimus Belisarius and there is a man over the river, a senator of the empire, who sent a message not a day past, willing to pay handsome for your body, dead or alive, if you are found.’
‘And if I say I am not?’
That got a laugh, head tilted back, though not a very humorous one, more the kind that enquired if he was taking him for a fool. ‘Flavius Belisarius is who you are, even down to those two shiners of yours, which those who took the message were told to look out for.’
‘Not much point in denying it,’ Ohannes hissed, which if it was too low to be overheard, still drew the other man’s eye.
‘In the company of a slave, too.’
‘I’m no slave, nor ever likely to be!’
‘Like to hear you say that to a Hun with a whip.’
‘I might prefer death to that.’
The man nodded and glanced at the spear that lay at the feet of the old soldier. Given their eyes were locked, the youngster could not help but look from the one to the other, the Scythian determined, the other fellow slightly amused. Yet it took no great imagination to understand the meaning of the exchange; Ohannes was implying he might just have time to lift and cast that spear before he was taken by arrows and there was no doubt at whom it would be aimed.